Manner of Devotion

by DJ Clawson

"Everybody likes to go their own way--to choose their own time and manner of devotion."

Jane Austen, Mansfield Park

Author's Note: My policy: Update twice a week or when a chapter reaches 5-10 comments, whichever comes first.

Pemberley Shades is printed and is being shipped to me. You have about a week left on the preorder sale.

www (dot) laughingmanpublications (dot) com / preorder.htm

Chapter 16 – Demons in the Night

As the storm continued into the night, Darcy watched Grégoire fall asleep after his evening dose of opium. He did not head to his room, even though he was tired. He saw no reason to get into his bed without Elizabeth, when he needed her so badly. Instead he nodded off in the chair in Grégoire's room, sleeping uncomfortably for some time before he heard glass smashing, and was instantly awake, his eyes turning to the hazy source.

The glass on the table beside the bed had been knocked over and shattered on the floor. Grégoire, in a shirt and bedclothes, had attempted to stand up, and failed, hitting the ground and taking his sheets with him.

"Grégoire!" Darcy grabbed him by both arms and hoisted him back up. "You're not supposed to be – "

Grégoire spit in his face and tried to break free. He was not at all successful except in disturbing Darcy, who had to loosen his grip and wipe the water off his face. Grégoire's eyes were bloodshot and wild, and with his beard and unkempt hair, he looked unwell. "Let me go!" He said something else in gibberish as well – it was probably Latin, but the sort of Latin Darcy could recognize, that of prayers. "Please, let me go!"

"Grégoire, I would gladly let you – "

"You can't do this to me!" his brother screamed, pounding his fists into Darcy's chest. "Permissum mihi vado!"

"You're not well," Darcy said with a quiet forcefulness as his brother pounded futilely on his chest. "You have to sit back down."

"Adepto a mihi, vos filius of a meretricis! He left me! Everyone has left me!"

"I am here," Darcy said. "I will stay here. The others – "

"You did this to me! You bastard, I was happy!" Grégoire cried. "I was so happy ..." There was madness in his watery eyes. "So happy."

Darcy was getting a little desperate, and hoped someone had heard them, because he could hardly leave his brother in this condition to find a servant to wake Maddox. "You were beating yourself to death!"

"How do you know what it is, pain? It brings us closer to G-d –" He went almost limp for a moment, and Darcy succeeded in lifting him back up on the bed so he was at least sitting. "Even when ... there's so much of it – "

"You need to lie back down!"

"Subsisto is! Stop telling me what I need! I didn't need father's money, I didn't need it from you, I told you to stop it, now you're going to kill me like you killed George – "

Darcy swallowed his first reaction, and instead said, "Grégoire, listen to me. You're sick – "

"I'm not sick! Just because I want to be a pious person, that makes me sick –" He grabbed Darcy's face. "I can see into your eyes. You're just hiding – you are afraid. Ego sum non! I am not afraid!" He pulled back, and swung what was obviously meant to be a punch, but it was slow and weak and Darcy easily caught it.

He saw the red staining the shirt. "You're popping your stitches. You want to kill yourself?"

"Yes! Would that make you happy?" Grégoire said, struggling under Darcy's increasingly firm grip "Napoleon's soldiers couldn't kill me, the church couldn't kill me; you want to try?"

Darcy did the only think he could think of, which was to kick over the table with all of the metal instruments, which clattered in a loud enough noise to be noticed by anyone nearby. "No one wants you dead." He pushed him down again, and Grégoire cried out; maybe he was really killing him.

"Mr. Darcy," said a voice from behind him. "What is – Oh goodness."

"Get the doctor up. Now," he said without looking back at the servant. "And bring someone to help me in the meantime." He turned back to Grégoire, who was still managing to struggle. "I will save you from yourself."

"The abbot said that. Right before he cast me out. Grégoire the rich bastard can't be seen in the house of G-d!" He was weakening, having done more in the last few minutes than in weeks. "I saw him. I saw the abbot, I saw the abbot in Munich, there was a terrible fire – he said something about a forge – I am not to be hammered!" He cried, "G-d forgive me, what good does G-d's forgiveness do? Am I to live or die?"

"Live," Darcy said as two servants swarmed the room, and after having recovered from the sight of a bleeding madman screaming at Mr. Darcy, helped him hold down Grégoire's limbs.

"Demons! Oh G-d, please – I am to be forgotten and now damned?"

"You are not damned," Darcy said. "You are just delirious – "

"Vos es totus everto ex abyssus!" he screamed. "Diabolus genitus! Where is my cross? Where is the Merciful G-d?"

To that, Darcy did not know the answer, fortunately, Dr. Maddox rushed into the room and he didn't have to. The doctor was still tying his bed robe. "Oh dear. Give me a moment." He looked at the instruments spilled everywhere. "Give me two."

"He's bleeding, Maddox!"

"I know! I know!" Dr. Maddox knelt on the ground and collected his things. "Candle!" One of the servants brought him a candle, which he held under a spoon, but Darcy could only see it from the edges of his vision, so utterly distracted. It smelled like something burning, which was appropriate, until at last Dr. Maddox produced a cloth and put it over Grégoire's screaming mouth.

"Breathe," he said, which was not an order that even his patient could disobey. In fact, Grégoire was gasping, and breathed very deep, collapsing quickly onto the bed stained with his own blood. Maddox removed the cloth and put a hand on Grégoire's now-still forehead. "He has no fever, at least. Turn him over."

With care Darcy and the servants flipped Grégoire over. The shirt he wore buttoned in the back, and it was easy to get it open. Dr. Maddox had his tools ready now and looked at the wounds as more light was brought to them. "He only managed to pop a few. You may want to turn away, Mr. Darcy," he said, threading his needle.

"I won't leave him."

"I don't want two patients," Dr. Maddox said with his usual calm. "Just turn around."

Darcy did as he asked, not relinquishing his hold on Grégoire's hand as he waited for Dr. Maddox to work. It was very brief, and Dr. Maddox called for hot water and various other things from his lab, handing the keys to his manservant. "He will be all right."

"He wasn't all right a few minutes ago."

"He had a lot of opium and probably a bad dream." He looked up at Darcy, trying to read his face. "Whatever he said to you, he did not mean it."

"He wanted to strike me. He tried."

"Why not? I'd be rather angry if I was him and you were the closest person available." Seeing this was not entirely doing the job, he added, "He holds himself to an impossible standard and we in turn unintentionally do the same. He's only human, Darcy. Let him be angry for a little while. What else has he to do?"

The manservant arrived with the ingredients and the others with the hot water and dishes, and Dr. Maddox carefully mixed a tea that smelled familiar. Grégoire, who was slowly returning to consciousness, was approached by a soft-spoken Dr. Maddox. "Please drink this. It will help you sleep."

For whatever reason – probably pure exhaustion – Grégoire did not resist, and swallowed it in full. He took another cup, and then settled back on the pillow, not to stir again. Dr. Maddox dragged Darcy out of the room. "Let someone else watch him."

"I can't possibly – "

"You can possibly leave him for a few hours," Dr. Maddox insisted. "If you want, I'll keep watch."

"You've done enough."

"I have a patient who thinks otherwise. Now go, and at least clean yourself up a bit."

Darcy could hardly take it as an insult; his sleeves were bloodied from holding down and practically fighting Grégoire. "May I – this is terrible of me, but may I have some of that tea?"

Dr. Maddox replied, "Of course."

After a bath and a cup of that soothing concoction, Darcy finally slid into bed. He had taken care to wash off all of the grime underneath his fingertips from the fight, but they still did not look clean. He held them to the light until he slowly dropped off into a dreamless sleep.

In the morning the rain abated, and as London began to dry, Darcy braced himself to greet his brother. Not that he was afraid for himself – in fact, he had no idea if Grégoire would recall the incident – but it remained unsettling nonetheless. And that Dr. Maddox had been witness to it – well, the doctor had surely seen stranger things than a delirious patient.

He did not dream of abandoning his responsibilities to his brother, even for a morning. He dallied only through breakfast with Mrs. Maddox (Dr. Maddox had just gone to sleep) in which almost nothing was said finding the door closed. The servant instructed him that Grégoire was in confession, and after a few minutes, a man who was obviously a priest emerged. "Father. I am Grégoire's brother, Mr. Darcy."

"Father Leblanc."

"How is my brother this morning?" It came out satisfactorily emotionless.

"With G-d's will, he's less burdened," said the priest, and excused himself. It only then occurred to Darcy that if Grégoire had said everything in confession, then the priest knew everything of the events previous to this.

Swallowing, Darcy entered Grégoire's chambers. The linen had been changed, as well as his clothing, and he laid on his side, awake and alert. "Good morning."

"I apologize for my actions," Grégoire said, never one to mince words, especially when he felt he was the guilty party. "I did not know what I said."

"While I think you did for some of it, it was because it needed to be said," Darcy replied. "Would I have known to handle things differently, I would have. My road was paved with good intentions ... and we all know where that leads." He changed the subject, mainly because he couldn't bear it anymore, and Grégoire also did not seem so inclined. "With any luck, Elizabeth and the children will arrive today. They must still be in horrible suspense about your condition and will be relieved to find you very much alive." He paced as he spoke. "I was thinking – perhaps you would want to be shaved before you see the children. Otherwise, my younger ones might not recognize you at all."

"That is true," Grégoire said with a smile. "But I could not burden the Maddox servants – "

"Nonsense," Darcy said. "You have no idea how good it will feel to lose a beard you did not intend to grow."

Slowly, and without aid, Darcy shaved his brother's beard, the sides, though there was some issue over whether those would be done. No, Grégoire was not willing to look like a sensible person just yet and had his sideburns shaved smooth. He had lost weight in his ordeal, and was not the picture of health, but years were taken off his appearance with the hair removed. Darcy was no hairdresser and the hair on his head was left untouched, including the fuzzy remains of what had been his tonsure. "I am no longer allowed to have the crown of the church."

"'Heavy is the head that wears the crown,'" his brother consoled him. "Shakespeare. The greatest poet of all time. You may wish to read up on him someday."

Grégoire laughed. It was a wonderful thing to hear.

Darcy sent for his townhouse and the Bingley house to be opened, but his family came straight to the Maddoxes. There was no shortage of tears as Darcy embraced his long-lost wife, as if five days of separation had been months. "He's alive. He will recover." He added more softly into her ear, so the children could not hear, "He is having a hard time. He has been tossed from the church and no one knows quite what to say to him." He added tearfully, "Not even me."

"The Bingleys are here," she said, kissing him in reassurance. The pain must have been etched on his face. "They did not want to swamp the place."

"He will be happy to see them, I'm sure," he said.

"So he is awake?"

"Yes, but he tires easily, and cannot be moved." He would not release his embrace quite yet, setting on her shoulder and smelling her hair. "I missed you." I needed you.

"I am here now," she said. She laced her fingers with his as she stepped back. "And what do you ladies have to say to your Papa?"

"Hello, Papa!" they said, and all curtseyed – Cassandra doing her best attempt at it, this time managing not to fall over.

Behind them, Geoffrey emerged and bowed. "Father."

"Can we see Uncle Grégoire?"

"Is he still sick?"

"Can he play with us?"

His children's incessant questioning was not an annoyance. If anything, it was a relief. "You may see him – one at a time. He is weak from his illness so do not overtax him. Now, in order – "

"Awww!" Anne and Sarah said. "You always do that and Geoffrey always wins!"

"I did not say in which order of age," he said. "Cassandra, would you like to see your uncle?"

Cassandra Darcy, who had not seen him in two years and was unlikely to remember anything about him, was nonetheless overeager to see the man they were all talking about. "Yes!" She lifted her arms, and Darcy picked her up and kissed her. "I missed you."

"I missed you too, my darling," he said. "Geoffrey, watch your sisters. Oh, and I believe Frederick is in his room."

Geoffrey nodded, leaving Darcy to escort his wife and youngest child into the sickroom. Grégoire had had to sit up for some time to be shaved, but whatever exhaustion was apparent on his face at first dissolved with his smile. " Elizabeth. And is this Cassandra? I ... can hardly recognize her, she's grown so much."

"Uncle Grégoire!" she cried out, somewhat mangling his French name, which sounded more like "Greywar" than "Gregwa." Apparently she did remember him, and delighted in playing with his rosary beads as Elizabeth inquired as to his health.

"In the good care of Dr. Maddox," he said, "and, I understand, a Dr. Bertrand and a Mr. Stevens. I don't remember it, but the Prince of Wales was lacking almost his entire staff that night, or so I am told."

"And yet the monarchy survives," Elizabeth said.

"Much to the frustration of Parliament," Darcy added.

The children were paraded each in turn, and Grégoire was no less happy to see each one of them. "I remember when you were born," he said to all three daughters, having had the fortune of being present at each of their births. "What is this bracelet?"

Anne held it up. Her wrist was barely large enough to wear it even with it bent in, and he squinted to read the inscription. "'To my darling Anne.'"

"It was my mother's," Darcy said proudly, "from our father."

"It looks beautiful on you," Grégoire said to his niece.

Geoffrey was last. "Hello, Uncle Grégoire."

"Do you want me to say all the obvious things about how much you've grown?"

"No, sir."

His uncle grinned. "Then I will not. But you are a sight. And I hope I will never be a 'sir' to you, nephew," he said, his voice dragging. By now Dr. Maddox was awake, and announced that it was time for them to let his patient rest. Only with Grégoire's reassurance was Darcy willing to leave the Maddox house for the first time since his arrival and ride to his own, where his staff was waiting to greet him and wish his brother well. He was not feeling particularly sociable, and nodded politely over a quick luncheon while Nurse took care of the children. Elizabeth, sensing his anxiety, sat with him alone in their chambers.

"He blames me," he said at last. "He said it when he was out his senses from exhaustion and drugs, but it is true."

"Darcy," Elizabeth said, taking his hand, "he does not blame you. He is not capable of such a thing."

"I have done all the things he has accused me of. I removed him twice from abbeys where he was happy, and ruined his monastic career by insisting on sending him a fortune every year and then insisting he hide it from his abbot. I have ruined his life."

"You have saved his life," she had no hesitation in saying. "We both remember the boy we found in that awful monastery in France. Whatever has befallen him since, I am still grateful we found him and persuaded him to leave. Bavaria had nothing to do with you – it was a matter of politics. And this," she said. "You were honoring your father's wishes. You were trying to protect him."

"So easy to explain," he said. "So logical. And yet he was on death's door when he arrived in Town. He can't sit up for long. He can't stand – "

" – all of which will pass – "

"He has nowhere to go. He has nothing."

Elizabeth leaned into him, letting him rest on her shoulder as they sat on the sofa. "He has us."

... Next Chapter - The Adventures of Mugen-san